Sometimes

I feel as if there is something truly profound about love and hate

Both numbing in their exhaustion and best reserved for a proper patron

Both humbling in the fallout

The generations are numerous in this conviction for folly

Other times I feel its merely chemicals reacting in a hungry skull

Navigating lonesome anatomy into collisions for the sake of a secondary pulse


Still

A shortcut in my quiet moments...

When I discard my bulwark and realize I only thrive in seclusion

Is it lethargy or lunacy when I reject connection?

A tick of panic in my crowded moments...

When shoulders mingle in spaces fully saturated with gizmos and vain distraction

How potent is creation?

F*ck away the time and we may call it heaven

****** into chaos and we weave new homes for hurting

The scenes we preconceive are never as fantastic as the actual trajectory

When we come faceless and wanting

we may find time to ponder a perfect rotation

But once the whirlpool winks we can barely grasp the remnants of imaginary